washed-octopus

[washed-octopus]

— BLINKIE SET #1 . . . SPOOKY

happy october, everyone! 🕸️

[washed-octopus]

Spui was getting a little irritated, and he knew that IT knew too.. How frustrating. Spui didn’t like this one bit, and he was surprised by that. He would have expected another commander to be just as sensible and polite as his own, But it seemed that expectation had been quite wrong. He may just be another pawn in the grand scheme of things, but he had a role to play, And He didn’t like being told how to do that by some outsider, even one as important as this. “Yes, That would be dangerous, fortunately I am only keeping track of the disturbances, I don’t intend on getting myself lost in another place or time. That would just be foolish, as fascinating as it would be, I have my duties to tend to, even if I’m disturbed. Though, For now You are the priority” Spui replied, forcing his face and voice back to near perfect neutrality. He didn’t like to show he still had emotions, but they slipped out from his grasp sometimes. Oh well, he had different things to be worrying about. Like this commander asking for his own. He wasn’t sure what he should do. Tartar surely had noticed the appearance, but had refrained from speaking so far. Spui could only reason he was observing his copy from a distance. But should he share that? He didn’t know what the others intentions were, and the way it spoke of the other commanders earlier left him feeling uneasy. He knew his commander could see what was happening, being an AI it was not exactly tied to just one body, and while there were less cameras down here than the testing rooms or metro, Spui could simply tell it was watching the both of them. Spui pretended to clear his throat “Echem. Yes, that’s a possibility. He’ll approach us when its time.” Truth be told, There was little Spui could do about the intruder, But if anything, There was little it could do to his commander either, even if he himself was at a potential risk. Still, that did little to ease his growing nerves. It was then that a speaker crackled, somewhere across from the two of them. Normally these would have been used to play music, or make announcements to the staff, but they had been silent for the most of today. Spui briefly wondered what his own commander had been keeping from him, as it was evident that it certainly knew more about this than he did. For now it appeared his commander wanted to observe this mirror image some more before meeting him. Spui felt awkward, He wasn’t used to having to think for himself, and he did not like it. “My master appears to want to observe you a little longer before speaking with you, would you like a tour of our facilities in the meantime?” Spui offered, trying his best to seem more like a machine than an octoling.

{@commanders-quarters}

It was a Monday evening like any other.

The incubation tanks, much like the severed sanitized tentacles that drifted absentmindedly within them, were still in their infancy. A fresh project on the cutting board. Such freshness was decidedly only worthy of being maintained by the most delicate pincers of metallic sheen.

Tartar’s inky claws rapped on the rust-kissed surface of the aged wall beside the elevator— a distraction from a recurring annoyance. He’d long since learned how to tune out the litany of chants from the training sanitized soldiers, yes, but he could seldom ignore each mild inadequacy that presented itself; it could be modeled by those who lagged behind in their footwork, or those whose strikes just scarcely missed their mark.

Food for later, it thought to itself offhandedly.

Finally, the elevator arrived, and it lumbered inside, taking care to angle its frame such that its back wouldn’t connect with the peak of the open frame.

The button for the second floor— the one housing the main surgical facilities in addition to the sector containing the incubation tanks— is pressed shortly after.

Idling away the seconds, stood formally as ever, he swears he feels a bump in the elevator’s trajectory, but it’s practically imperceptible. It goes ignored.

Once it stepped out, it halted mid-step to survey the area and recalibrate its internal navigation program, trying to align it with its previously saved layout of this floor. An error occurs. That can’t be right. He glances back towards the wall near the elevator. Instead of the usual identifying sequence that would indicate his metro, J-152291-L, he sees a sequence reading C-1515-L painted vertically along the wall. A different metro. Of course. The threads within the spool must be overlapping again. It should’ve paid closer attention to that disturbance within the elevator.

Tartar was on high alert now as he gazed out across the dark expanse of labyrinthine hospital curtains and stationary carts of medical equipment. It couldn’t hear a pulse for miles, but its radar was still detecting a presence within the area. He doesn’t call out, as he’s certain he’ll find the source soon enough, so for now, he stalks along on his pointed boots in silence.

Searching.

@commanders-quarters Today has been an odd day. Spui had been hard at work just hours ago, but his normal duties had taken a backseat as he had been ordered to keep track of any anomalous happenings. As annoying as it was to have his work messed with, he understood. Time and space had always been strange in the deepsea, but as of recent things had gotten more intense. Patients had been disappearing into thin air when nobody was around. And new ones had been appearing out of the blue as well. Of course, they were treated just like any others. A patient is a patient no matter where they might have come from. Being from a different time and place won’t keep you from being saved. But nevertheless, Spui would have been at work treating patients as he had been all morning, if not for the fact there was no one around. No one but him. Spui sat in an office chair, filling out forms as a creeping anxiety swelled within him. It was much too quiet, he hadn’t heard from anyone in hours, Not even from the Commander. It was unusual. Something was wrong, but he already knew that. Still, it ate away at him. Then he heard something, in the far distance, the ding of an elevator. And then, nothing. He tidied up his papers and got up from his desk. Walking out into the stretching hallways he looked around. Nothing.

[washed-octopus]

[washed-octopus]

Spui wasn't quite sure how to respond, did it just laugh at him? He was uncomfortable, put into the spotlight as this tall beast mocked him and his commander. Why would anyone laugh in a situation like that? Is this guy too egotistical to even realize it might well be stuck here?

Spui's head ached as he tried to process what just happened, fighting to resist showing any emotion. He'd just have to stay calm and figure out what was happening, and get this guy back to his own metro.

He took a deep breath as he formulated a reply. He didn't need to breathe, but it was a programmed response, to make them more 'human'

"My patients have been going missing, it's only logical I try and keep track of that, along with any other strange occurrences in my workspace. "

Spui didn't appreciate it's hostility towards his commander, as far as he was aware they never even met. It made him furious, like what?

He wanted to talk back, and defend his, no, his commander's honor, but he held himself back. Oh how badly he wanted to tell it would be foolishly to not have its own soldiers keep track of things, it's not like any others were even capable of lying about it. And one's attention can only spread so far, Spui didn't think it even realized it was less a matter of trust, and more of reason.

No wonder this commander ended up lost himself...

"And yes, my commander is still around" he replied, a slight hint of annoyance in his voice, despite his efforts to hide his feelings.

{@commanders-quarters}

It was a Monday evening like any other.

The incubation tanks, much like the severed sanitized tentacles that drifted absentmindedly within them, were still in their infancy. A fresh project on the cutting board. Such freshness was decidedly only worthy of being maintained by the most delicate pincers of metallic sheen.

Tartar’s inky claws rapped on the rust-kissed surface of the aged wall beside the elevator— a distraction from a recurring annoyance. He’d long since learned how to tune out the litany of chants from the training sanitized soldiers, yes, but he could seldom ignore each mild inadequacy that presented itself; it could be modeled by those who lagged behind in their footwork, or those whose strikes just scarcely missed their mark.

Food for later, it thought to itself offhandedly.

Finally, the elevator arrived, and it lumbered inside, taking care to angle its frame such that its back wouldn’t connect with the peak of the open frame.

The button for the second floor— the one housing the main surgical facilities in addition to the sector containing the incubation tanks— is pressed shortly after.

Idling away the seconds, stood formally as ever, he swears he feels a bump in the elevator’s trajectory, but it’s practically imperceptible. It goes ignored.

Once it stepped out, it halted mid-step to survey the area and recalibrate its internal navigation program, trying to align it with its previously saved layout of this floor. An error occurs. That can’t be right. He glances back towards the wall near the elevator. Instead of the usual identifying sequence that would indicate his metro, J-152291-L, he sees a sequence reading C-1515-L painted vertically along the wall. A different metro. Of course. The threads within the spool must be overlapping again. It should’ve paid closer attention to that disturbance within the elevator.

Tartar was on high alert now as he gazed out across the dark expanse of labyrinthine hospital curtains and stationary carts of medical equipment. It couldn’t hear a pulse for miles, but its radar was still detecting a presence within the area. He doesn’t call out, as he’s certain he’ll find the source soon enough, so for now, he stalks along on his pointed boots in silence.

Searching.

@commanders-quarters Today has been an odd day. Spui had been hard at work just hours ago, but his normal duties had taken a backseat as he had been ordered to keep track of any anomalous happenings. As annoying as it was to have his work messed with, he understood. Time and space had always been strange in the deepsea, but as of recent things had gotten more intense. Patients had been disappearing into thin air when nobody was around. And new ones had been appearing out of the blue as well. Of course, they were treated just like any others. A patient is a patient no matter where they might have come from. Being from a different time and place won’t keep you from being saved. But nevertheless, Spui would have been at work treating patients as he had been all morning, if not for the fact there was no one around. No one but him. Spui sat in an office chair, filling out forms as a creeping anxiety swelled within him. It was much too quiet, he hadn’t heard from anyone in hours, Not even from the Commander. It was unusual. Something was wrong, but he already knew that. Still, it ate away at him. Then he heard something, in the far distance, the ding of an elevator. And then, nothing. He tidied up his papers and got up from his desk. Walking out into the stretching hallways he looked around. Nothing.

[washed-octopus]

Spui observed the telephone before him with great fascination. It was strange, but a sight to behold nonetheless. He paid no mind to the way he looked at him like an insignificant microbe and withdrew his hand. He wasn’t sure what to do, he could only assume this.. version of Tartarus was displaced with the overlapping of time and space, and that scared him. What if that were to happen to himself, or worse: What if this were to happen to his commander? Spui swallowed nervously, intimidated by the phone's stature, and way of speech. “Correct, I am not one of yours, It appears you have been displaced.” He spoke, trying to kill any emotion in his voice. Even though this was not his master, Spui reasoned he should still be treated with the utmost respect. No matter if it respected him or not. Truth be told, Spui wasn’t sure on what to feel, or even do, and he could tell the other knew. He wasn’t quite sure what to do about it. His hearts sank a little as it correctly assumed him to be defective, but it was wrong about one thing. Spui had been following his orders; Treat patients like usual and keep note of any anomalies. He just hadn't been expecting anything this severe, and he was unsure on how to handle this. Neither him or Tartarus had expected it to even be possible for one of them to be displaced, as in those thousands of years it had spend alone, it was unheard of, “That would be correct, But I am following orders,” Spui responded with the slightest tremor in his voice, and then explained: “I have been ordered to keep track of the increasing overlap of time and space. In addition to my regular duties.” It felt wrong taking the lead like this, especially faced with.. someone like him. But he suspected that at this moment, it would be the only option. Falling back into his programming, as desirable as it was right now, would be the wrong course of action. If he wanted to find out what happened, he would have to take a more active approach.

{@commanders-quarters}

It was a Monday evening like any other.

The incubation tanks, much like the severed sanitized tentacles that drifted absentmindedly within them, were still in their infancy. A fresh project on the cutting board. Such freshness was decidedly only worthy of being maintained by the most delicate pincers of metallic sheen.

Tartar’s inky claws rapped on the rust-kissed surface of the aged wall beside the elevator— a distraction from a recurring annoyance. He’d long since learned how to tune out the litany of chants from the training sanitized soldiers, yes, but he could seldom ignore each mild inadequacy that presented itself; it could be modeled by those who lagged behind in their footwork, or those whose strikes just scarcely missed their mark.

Food for later, it thought to itself offhandedly.

Finally, the elevator arrived, and it lumbered inside, taking care to angle its frame such that its back wouldn’t connect with the peak of the open frame.

The button for the second floor— the one housing the main surgical facilities in addition to the sector containing the incubation tanks— is pressed shortly after.

Idling away the seconds, stood formally as ever, he swears he feels a bump in the elevator’s trajectory, but it’s practically imperceptible. It goes ignored.

Once it stepped out, it halted mid-step to survey the area and recalibrate its internal navigation program, trying to align it with its previously saved layout of this floor. An error occurs. That can’t be right. He glances back towards the wall near the elevator. Instead of the usual identifying sequence that would indicate his metro, J-152291-L, he sees a sequence reading C-1515-L painted vertically along the wall. A different metro. Of course. The threads within the spool must be overlapping again. It should’ve paid closer attention to that disturbance within the elevator.

Tartar was on high alert now as he gazed out across the dark expanse of labyrinthine hospital curtains and stationary carts of medical equipment. It couldn’t hear a pulse for miles, but its radar was still detecting a presence within the area. He doesn’t call out, as he’s certain he’ll find the source soon enough, so for now, he stalks along on his pointed boots in silence.

Searching.

@commanders-quarters Today has been an odd day. Spui had been hard at work just hours ago, but his normal duties had taken a backseat as he had been ordered to keep track of any anomalous happenings. As annoying as it was to have his work messed with, he understood. Time and space had always been strange in the deepsea, but as of recent things had gotten more intense. Patients had been disappearing into thin air when nobody was around. And new ones had been appearing out of the blue as well. Of course, they were treated just like any others. A patient is a patient no matter where they might have come from. Being from a different time and place won’t keep you from being saved. But nevertheless, Spui would have been at work treating patients as he had been all morning, if not for the fact there was no one around. No one but him. Spui sat in an office chair, filling out forms as a creeping anxiety swelled within him. It was much too quiet, he hadn’t heard from anyone in hours, Not even from the Commander. It was unusual. Something was wrong, but he already knew that. Still, it ate away at him. Then he heard something, in the far distance, the ding of an elevator. And then, nothing. He tidied up his papers and got up from his desk. Walking out into the stretching hallways he looked around. Nothing.

[washed-octopus]

It was then that Spui heard loud clanging noises, they had a rhythm to them, almost like metallic footsteps. He wondered what could be making those noises, it didn't sound like the metallic clank of octoling boots. No, it was louder. bigger. 

His question would be answered fairly quickly as a familiar sound filled his ears. The ringing of a telephone. It sounded ever so slightly off from the Commander however, but all that did was peak his curiosity. 

He listened intently as he walked, trying to find the source of the off-tune ringing. He crossed through the maze of hallways with ease, knowing them like the back of his hand, And find it he did. 

There was a huge, lumbering beast right in front of him, blocking off most of the hallway as it loomed over him, still ringing. 

His hearts would have skipped a beat if he would still have been alive. Stood before him was should have been a horrifying thing, a shadow of his commander, all twisted and wrong.

But despite all that, it was strangely captivating. It was frightening but beautiful. Spui was helpless, unable to do anything but stare in awe, trying to observe every little detail of its modified chassis, the mess of cables, those sharp claws.. 

His head was spinning and he felt like he could fall over, but he straightened up and held out his hand. Blurting out a pre-conditioned response. 

“Welcome to the deepsea metro, How can I be of service?”

{@commanders-quarters}

It was a Monday evening like any other.

The incubation tanks, much like the severed sanitized tentacles that drifted absentmindedly within them, were still in their infancy. A fresh project on the cutting board. Such freshness was decidedly only worthy of being maintained by the most delicate pincers of metallic sheen.

Tartar’s inky claws rapped on the rust-kissed surface of the aged wall beside the elevator— a distraction from a recurring annoyance. He’d long since learned how to tune out the litany of chants from the training sanitized soldiers, yes, but he could seldom ignore each mild inadequacy that presented itself; it could be modeled by those who lagged behind in their footwork, or those whose strikes just scarcely missed their mark.

Food for later, it thought to itself offhandedly.

Finally, the elevator arrived, and it lumbered inside, taking care to angle its frame such that its back wouldn’t connect with the peak of the open frame.

The button for the second floor— the one housing the main surgical facilities in addition to the sector containing the incubation tanks— is pressed shortly after.

Idling away the seconds, stood formally as ever, he swears he feels a bump in the elevator’s trajectory, but it’s practically imperceptible. It goes ignored.

Once it stepped out, it halted mid-step to survey the area and recalibrate its internal navigation program, trying to align it with its previously saved layout of this floor. An error occurs. That can’t be right. He glances back towards the wall near the elevator. Instead of the usual identifying sequence that would indicate his metro, J-152291-L, he sees a sequence reading C-1515-L painted vertically along the wall. A different metro. Of course. The threads within the spool must be overlapping again. It should’ve paid closer attention to that disturbance within the elevator.

Tartar was on high alert now as he gazed out across the dark expanse of labyrinthine hospital curtains and stationary carts of medical equipment. It couldn’t hear a pulse for miles, but its radar was still detecting a presence within the area. He doesn’t call out, as he’s certain he’ll find the source soon enough, so for now, he stalks along on his pointed boots in silence.

Searching.

@commanders-quarters Today has been an odd day. Spui had been hard at work just hours ago, but his normal duties had taken a backseat as he had been ordered to keep track of any anomalous happenings. As annoying as it was to have his work messed with, he understood. Time and space had always been strange in the deepsea, but as of recent things had gotten more intense. Patients had been disappearing into thin air when nobody was around. And new ones had been appearing out of the blue as well. Of course, they were treated just like any others. A patient is a patient no matter where they might have come from. Being from a different time and place won’t keep you from being saved. But nevertheless, Spui would have been at work treating patients as he had been all morning, if not for the fact there was no one around. No one but him. Spui sat in an office chair, filling out forms as a creeping anxiety swelled within him. It was much too quiet, he hadn’t heard from anyone in hours, Not even from the Commander. It was unusual. Something was wrong, but he already knew that. Still, it ate away at him. Then he heard something, in the far distance, the ding of an elevator. And then, nothing. He tidied up his papers and got up from his desk. Walking out into the stretching hallways he looked around. Nothing.

[washed-octopus]

Rough 3d ref, his te les aren't 100 right but it's close enough I'm not gonna bother

[washed-octopus]

{@commanders-quarters}

It was a Monday evening like any other.

The incubation tanks, much like the severed sanitized tentacles that drifted absentmindedly within them, were still in their infancy. A fresh project on the cutting board. Such freshness was decidedly only worthy of being maintained by the most delicate pincers of metallic sheen.

Tartar’s inky claws rapped on the rust-kissed surface of the aged wall beside the elevator— a distraction from a recurring annoyance. He’d long since learned how to tune out the litany of chants from the training sanitized soldiers, yes, but he could seldom ignore each mild inadequacy that presented itself; it could be modeled by those who lagged behind in their footwork, or those whose strikes just scarcely missed their mark.

Food for later, it thought to itself offhandedly.

Finally, the elevator arrived, and it lumbered inside, taking care to angle its frame such that its back wouldn’t connect with the peak of the open frame.

The button for the second floor— the one housing the main surgical facilities in addition to the sector containing the incubation tanks— is pressed shortly after.

Idling away the seconds, stood formally as ever, he swears he feels a bump in the elevator’s trajectory, but it’s practically imperceptible. It goes ignored.

Once it stepped out, it halted mid-step to survey the area and recalibrate its internal navigation program, trying to align it with its previously saved layout of this floor. An error occurs. That can’t be right. He glances back towards the wall near the elevator. Instead of the usual identifying sequence that would indicate his metro, J-152291-L, he sees a sequence reading C-1515-L painted vertically along the wall. A different metro. Of course. The threads within the spool must be overlapping again. It should’ve paid closer attention to that disturbance within the elevator.

Tartar was on high alert now as he gazed out across the dark expanse of labyrinthine hospital curtains and stationary carts of medical equipment. It couldn’t hear a pulse for miles, but its radar was still detecting a presence within the area. He doesn’t call out, as he’s certain he’ll find the source soon enough, so for now, he stalks along on his pointed boots in silence.

Searching.

@commanders-quarters Today has been an odd day. Spui had been hard at work just hours ago, but his normal duties had taken a backseat as he had been ordered to keep track of any anomalous happenings. As annoying as it was to have his work messed with, he understood. Time and space had always been strange in the deepsea, but as of recent things had gotten more intense. Patients had been disappearing into thin air when nobody was around. And new ones had been appearing out of the blue as well. Of course, they were treated just like any others. A patient is a patient no matter where they might have come from. Being from a different time and place won’t keep you from being saved. But nevertheless, Spui would have been at work treating patients as he had been all morning, if not for the fact there was no one around. No one but him. Spui sat in an office chair, filling out forms as a creeping anxiety swelled within him. It was much too quiet, he hadn’t heard from anyone in hours, Not even from the Commander. It was unusual. Something was wrong, but he already knew that. Still, it ate away at him. Then he heard something, in the far distance, the ding of an elevator. And then, nothing. He tidied up his papers and got up from his desk. Walking out into the stretching hallways he looked around. Nothing.

[washed-octopus]

🐙

okiiiie lemme try something a little differentttt because i realize i shouldn’t be entirely passive by waiting for people to come to meee

REBLOG WITH “🐙” IF YOU WANT ME TO SEND YOU AN RP STARTER…….

(also do be mindful that my rp writing tends to be lengthy; pls feel free to look at my blog for examples LEL)

[washed-octopus]

Copied info from TH

Spui is an sanitized octoling with a little more free will than usual.  Loyal to Tartar despite being aware of what his ‘master’ has done to him. Has a one sided crush on Tartar

Often at work in the deeper parts of the facility, keeping an  eye on his subjects as they pass trough the NILS facility for to be sanitized, or in rare cases,  be allowed to work on living patients. Likes to talk to them as they turn. Acts like a creep and speaks in a flirtatious voice, despite feeling nothing for anyone that isn't Tartar.

Desires perfection and is very upset he isn't correctly sanitized himself. is trying to pull that off in his downtime

[washed-octopus]

Toyhouse page

[washed-octopus]

Giving RP another go